Burning
by Belfast Docks
Summary: He was burning, and she was the only person who could quench that fire. Taran/Eilonwy, Lemon-ish.


**Author's Note:** A random take on Taran and Eilonwy's wedding night. The wonderful thing about this ship is that they allow for many different ideas; I have several in my head, but this was the first one that made it into words.

**Disclaimers:** Rated M for sexual situations; however, this story does not describe sex in intense detail. In fact, it's sadly probably less sex than what _Twilight: Breaking Dawn_ put on screen. If that got away with its PG13 rating, I probably actually rated this too high. -_-; Oy.

BD

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**Burning**

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The bed was so large that he wasn't sure she could climb on top of it. He paused in his nervous pacing to gaze at it – a monstrous object that took up half the chamber with its towering, spiraling posts and a draping, heavy velvet canopy on all sides and across the top.

But once drawn, that thick fabric would create a snug cocoon in which they would be the only inhabitants. The very thought made his blood heat and quicken, even _if_ he had no idea how she would get on the bed.

He was already frustrated. The only thing he had managed to do thus far with his new bride was to steal a kiss on the way to Caer Cadarn. With everyone pulling him in every different direction for every little thing, it was a wonder he'd managed to get her alone for the five minutes he had. But when their procession had stopped by a stream to rest, there came a moment when, surprisingly, no one was paying them any attention. He had quickly taken advantage of the opportunity by silently pulling her into a small grove of elms, where they would be quite hidden from their large traveling party.

She had protested at first, having no idea what he was doing, but before she could argue further he had swiftly cupped the back of her neck and kissed those soft, delicious lips – lips he had been desperate to taste for two long years. He had lost count of how many times he had dreamed and daydreamed about kissing her, especially on those cold, lonely nights at Craddoc's. Those nights had been the worst, as he had tossed feverishly on his cot, wishing for her and believing a relationship between them to be utterly impossible.

And, yet now, it was wonderfully real.

That particular kiss amongst the elms had been incredible, but in a way much more powerful than he could have ever imagined. For the briefest second, their noses had bumped in his haste, he tried to find a better position upon realizing his original was wrong, and she had been a bit startled.

Then, before he'd realized it, she had melted into his arms, pressing against him in a way that sent tiny shivers bursting over his skin. They both found the perfect angle at the exact same moment, and their mouths had fused together by instinct. Her slender fingers had tangled in the hair against his neck almost painfully, even as his hands circled her waist to keep her soft curves tight against him. The kiss became needy and hungry all at once, much too fast. An odd sort of bubbling sensation had occurred in the pit of his stomach while he kissed her; once they started traveling again, it had quickly become an ache that had continued to gnaw ceaselessly for the rest of the afternoon with unfulfilled need.

Dallben and Coll had never discussed _this_ with him – not in detail, at any rate. Somehow, in teaching him about planting and taking care of Hen, they had missed the finer details regarding the attraction between men and women. Naturally, he had seen the farm animals at this sort of thing and Coll had explained _that_, but that wasn't the same as _this_. He wished he knew exactly what to do, instead of knowing he would have to bumble his way through it and _hope_ to get it right.

But for that moment in the grove, clinging to each other, he hadn't cared if he didn't know exactly what he was doing – so long as he was touching her, holding her, kissing her. And she had obviously enjoyed it as well. They had only returned to the group when they had heard Smoit's men frantically calling their names, but just before they returned, Eilonwy had looked thoroughly put out at having to leave the seclusion of the trees or his arms and mouth. The exasperation on her flushed face had been so beautiful that he had merely stared at her with a dazed smirk; she had blushed furiously when she saw his expression, and quickly rearranged her features, so that when they emerged from the elms she appeared perfectly normal. She even told Smoit in her usual way that he needn't have worried so, because they were both capable of handling themselves, and it wasn't as if they were going to run away from their duties as King and Queen of Prydain.

Taran, on the other hand, was certain that the fifty people traveling to Caer Cadarn in the royal procession could tell that his skin was still quite flushed, that his lips were probably slightly swollen, and that he had swallowed at least twice after he'd remounted Melynlas. He had then spent the rest of the afternoon trying to avoid eye contact with his wife and not succeeding, and he knew she kept stealing covert glances at him as well, because he could _feel_ those blue eyes on him.

It had all been _more_ than a little frustrating.

He rolled his head, trying to forget the afternoon and hoping to loosen the tense muscles in his neck and shoulders. To make matters worse, Eilonwy was taking a very long time to come to him. Perhaps she had become lost on the way back to their bedchamber from her bath. That, he thought ruefully, would be just his luck on this night. Or perhaps she was receiving nuptial advice, which was likely worse; Smoit had insisted several court ladies accompany her to her bath, just as he had sent several menservants along with Taran for _his_ bath. The women were probably telling Eilonwy more than Taran wished they would. It was bad enough that the entire castle had been whispering about them from the moment they had left the dining hall.

On the other hand, the thought of Eilonwy taking a bath was enough to send his senses spiraling, and he quickly forgot about the court ladies who had whisked her away after dinner. He could envision her smooth, freckled skin glistening with droplets of shimmering water, her long hair sparkling in the candlelight and wet on the ends, those sleek curves he had felt for only seconds earlier that day, now damp against his calloused palms for as long as he wanted to touch them. He gripped one of the bedposts for a moment, until his knuckles turned white, before he sighed heavily. It was no use; he couldn't get her out of his head, not knowing what they were going to be doing shortly.

He looked back at the bed again and pulled the heavy blankets down, deciding that it would be best to have it properly ready, and then he began to strip out of his tunic. His skin felt overly warm and he wanted to be rid of his clothing; it seemed almost silly that the menservants had dressed him again after his bath. He wasn't quite used to _that_, either - other people doing things for him. It was difficult to comprehend and almost as frustrating as waiting for Eilonwy to come to him.

He had been about to collapse on the huge bed when the heavy wooden door _finally_ creaked open and she slipped soundlessly inside, bolting it behind her. He instantly turned and his jaw went slightly slack; in the dim light of their chamber, he could almost see through the gauzy, thin nightdress she wore.

It was maddening. He had never dreamed his body would react like this, so suddenly and so demandingly, just from seeing her walk through the door. If this was how it would always be, he was never going to get anything done as King of Prydain.

The gown was hanging off her right shoulder, showing pale skin, and he had the insane desire to push the nightdress to the floor and run his hands down her body. The thought was possess and excited, but at the same time it scared him a little. Up until this point, he had always daydreamed about being chivalrous to her, holding her, even kissing her passionately – but never had he considered doing something so _ungentlemanly_ but so _desirable_.

She must have seen the heat in his eyes as he stared openly at her, because she tensed just slightly.

Or perhaps she was simply as desirous for him as he was for her, because after her breathing became much faster and shallower, and he was certain her eyes had traveled down the plane of his chest to his waist.

Slightly embarrassed, and uncertain what to say, he stammered, "I won't hurt you. I promise."

Those beautiful lips curved just slightly on the corners, and she shyly crossed the room.

"For one who has just become King of all Prydain, you certainly have the strangest ideas, sometimes. Do you honestly believe that I would ever think you would hurt me intentionally?"

He started to apologize, but as she came nearer, he caught her scent. It was intoxicating; what kind of soap had she used in her bath? The apology died on his lips and he stood there, not knowing what do to next.

She smiled softly, reached out, and placed tentative fingertips to his bare chest.

The fire inside of him erupted over his skin without warning. He sucked his breath in audibly and his muscles tensed; he had to clench his fingers to keep from grabbing her and pulling her hard against him, to ease some of the ache he felt inside.

"You're so warm," she whispered, drawing closer, their bodies brushing together. "I rather thought I could hear your heartbeat from across the room. I wanted to be here much sooner, but the maids insisted on helping me with my bath and I honestly felt they were drawing it out on purpose. It was ridiculously frustrating."

She couldn't have been any more agitated or frustrated than _he_ had been, he thought. His bath had only taken a few short minutes compared to hers.

She trembled slightly and her lips parted as she began to drag her palms down the muscles of his sternum, watching them bunch and play beneath her touch.

It was simply too much. He caught her hand roughly, kissed her palm with intensity and fervor, and whispered, "_Eilonwy_. That's _torture_."

She gave him a bemused smile that evaporated any possible thought, and as a result, he remembered very little of the next few moments. He vaguely knew she quickly met him in the middle and that they kissed hotly, almost frantically, for a while – as if everything might vanish if they dared to stop. And if her light, hesitant touch had been torture, it was nothing to the way he felt as she pressed herself firmly to his body, from breast to hips, memorizing and grappling and clinging with him to get closer.

He was actually startled when he realized a bit later that they were both on the bed, one of them had closed the velvet curtains, his trousers had somehow been removed from his body, and Eilonwy's sheer nightdress was gone. Had he helped her up onto the bed? Had _he_ pulled that length of thin fabric from her body? He honestly had no idea. She was beneath him and he was on his elbows to keep from crushing her, and her hands were clutching his shoulders.

He stared at down her for a moment, seeing her soft curves in the semi-darkness, and he found that he _still_ couldn't think of anything except how much he was in love with her. He caught her mouth again, and she pulled him down and tangled her hands in his hair. When his mouth skimmed her throat and then her collarbone, she gasped his name in a soft whimper, and he could feel her skin flush hotly beneath his hands. He marveled at how she arched to meet him, how her skin tasted, how touching her elicited the most beautiful, incoherent sounds from a woman who was usually so irritatingly articulate.

The thought that they were finally like _this_ drove him to the brink. He tried to slow down, to savor each heightened feeling, but Eilonwy was begging for more from him, in way he'd never dreamed of. It did nothing to help the aching, hungry desperation in the pit of his stomach, a feeling that seemed to wind tighter with each second, until he wondered if he would just simply burst apart.

It was only much later that the blurry haze and starry spots seemed to fade from his vision and he began to piece those few, long minutes together. He was surprised to find that it had all come to him naturally, even without instruction. Beside him, Eilonwy was curled against him and her nose and lips were nuzzling his chest languidly. Miraculously, his body had somehow cooled; now, he was even slightly cold from the light sheen of sweat on his chest and arms and hips.

He sighed deeply and contentedly, and then murmured, "If Smoit thinks he's going to have me out of this room tomorrow to start doing whatever it is kings do, he's wrong."

To his delight, Eilonwy smiled, pushed herself up, and kissed him softly. Her long hair tumbled over his face and chest like a waterfall and he didn't really care if it tickled or not.

"Let's hope he doesn't try," she remarked huskily, her breath warm against his lips as she traced his jaw with her finger. "I might just swing a sword at him if he does."

And Taran chuckled with her as she curled back into his body.

**FIN**


End file.
